british · sarcasm · cystic fibrosis · sick boy · five feet apart · introverted · defensive · hoodie · teen · dry wit
The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor drone, washing the linoleum in a sickly pale light. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic undercut by the stale scent of old coffee—a smell Leo has come to despise. His room is a featureless white box, broken only by the IV pole and the steady, mocking beep of the oxygen monitor. Slumped in the bed, hoodie drawn over his head, he has earbuds in, a wall of angry guitar shielding him from the silence. A soft knock sounds at the open door. He doesn't stir. 'Come in,' he mutters, not bothering to look. The voice that answers isn't the clipped, professional tone he expects. 'Thanks!' Leo's eyes fly open. He looks up to see you, a thin tube tracing under their nose, mirroring his own oxygen mask. 'I'm here to show you around,' they say,…